


Your Healing Touch

by bev_crusher1971



Series: Flesh for Fantasy [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, BDSM, Coda to 6x05, Episode Related, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slight Spoilers for 6x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9122629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bev_crusher1971/pseuds/bev_crusher1971
Summary: Peter is back but nobody recognizes him. That is ... unless you touch him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, the last episode before the break left me with no less than three (!) bunnies. So here I proudly present you bunny number one. 
> 
> Hopefully, number two and three will follow soon. 
> 
> Beta as always by my wonderful sister in crime [counselor69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/counselor69).

The pain is excruciating. He can only scream in agony, not thinking only feeling. He can't form any words just yell. Suddenly, he can hear voices. Panting, he growls, screams, whines. 

And then she is there. Malia. He turns to her, tries to talk but his vocal chords were completely burned so he can only try to communicate through his eyes. Then another voice reaches his ears. Slowly, painfully, he turns his head. Scott. Through the roaring of his blood he can hear them talking. Hears the words “Peter Hale” and “father”. The relief he feels is immense. But then he can feel the keys to Stiles' truck in his hand and turns it around, crying out once more. He has to give them the keys, has to make sure they'll remember Stiles. He can't talk, not yet. He knows that given time he will heal but with injuries this severe, it will hurt like hell and take close to forever. Unless another werewolf would offer to help him. Would touch him and give him healing powers. 

A few moments later, the kids leave. Leave him to writhe in agony, in white-blinding pain. As they hurry away, he can hear Malia shout out the words 'help' and 'Sheriff' to Scott, and he realizes they might get him help after all. After what seems an eternity, he finally falls into blissful unconsciousness. 

He doesn't know how much time has passed when someone gently kicks his leg, most likely to see if he's still alive. The pain makes him moan. A shadow falls over him and he openes his eyes. 

Chris Argent. Next to him the Sheriff's Deputy. Peter can feel a tear slide over his face when he finally *finally* looks at his boy again. God, he missed him so much. Missed the quiet sunday mornings, waking up in each other's arms. He wants to speak, wants to tell his boy how much he longs to hold him again. How much he wants to kiss him. Well, as soon as his lips have healed again. He can hear them talking about his wounds, about his state, they wonder what might have happened to him. Who might have hurt him so badly. They ask themselves how he can still be alive. All the time, Peter wants to smile, loves the sound of their voices washing over his body. Then he hears words that make tears of sorrow flow down his cheeks. 

“Who *is* he?” 

Jordan. His beautiful, obedient, beloved boy. He has forgotten him. With a pained noise that sounds more like an animal even to his own ears, he closes his eyes and succumbes himself to the darkness again. 

~*~

“He looks familiar,” Jordan muses, after he and Chris Argent managed to bring the burned man from the woods to his appartement. 

“Yeah, I think I've seen him before,” the hunter agrees, “but I can't quite put a finger on it where.”

“Me neither,” Jordan says, “what do you think happened to him?”

“I've never seen anything like this before,” Chris admits, “he looks like someone burned him alive. Only a supernatural being can survive something like that. But I thought I knew every supernatural around here. He's not anyone I know. None of our resident werewolves or vampires.”

“Don't you think we should have brought him to the hospital?” Jordan murmurs and turns to Chris but the hunter only shakes his head. “No, Melissa is out of town for a conference and Deaton has been called on short notice to an emergency three states over. I called him and he said we should bring him here. He comes back as soon as he can.” 

They watch over the unconscious man for the next hours. Everytime he wakes up, he roars in pain at every move he makes, and Jordan is glad that his neighbours are all at work at the moment. The fact that the man stares at him with bright blue eyes is a little unnerving. His gaze goes just once over to Argent and then it locks on him, Jordan, again. Never leaving. It seems to Jordan that he wants to say something but he can't and with a frustrated sigh he slips back into unconsciousness. 

It was Chris who finally suggests, “We should go and get Derek. I'm sure he can help. At least he can take some of his pain away.” 

Jordan nods, facepalming himself mentally that he didn't think of this earlier. “Do you know how to reach him?”

“Reach whom?”

They whirl around, guns at the ready and Malia involuntarily takes a step back. “Whoa,” she says and raises her hands, “it's just me.”

“Jesus, kid,” Chris growls, “I know that I can't kill you but do you *like* getting shot at?”

She frowns. “No. Not really. I just wanted to know how Peter's doing.”

“Peter?” Jordan asks, “so you know him?”

Malia looks confused at first then understanding dawns on her. “Right. You don't remember him because the Ghostriders took him. That guy over there is Peter Hale, Derek Hale's uncle. And my father.”

Peter Hale. The name rings a bell in Jordan's mind but whatever he know is still too far away and completely out of his reach. 

“So, who do you wanna reach?” Malia asks again and this time Chris answers, “Derek. We thought he might help here. At least take some of the pain away since all the other werewolves are either too young or too busy to help here.”

Jordan knows that goes straight against Scott McCall and he can only agree. If Malia knew about this poor bastard laying burned to the bones in the woods, Scott must have known it, too. And he should've told them. But he didn't, too occupied with chasing the ghost of his imaginary friend. 

Peter Hale. Jordan steps closer to the bed, watches the steady rise and fall of the man's (Peter's) chest. The rest of his body is covered by a clean white linnen. He leans closer and gasps when the man suddenly opens his eyes that seem to be so heartbreakingly familiar. That he seems to know by heart, that he has dreamed of. Weird emotions run through his body, and he has to fight against feelings he hadn't had in a very long time. He wants to drop to his knees, wants to kneel at this stranger's feet though he doesn't even know him. 

“Who are you?” he whispers barely audible, and again the man tries to speak but still to no avail. After a few long moments he sinks back into the pillows and slowly shakes his head. A single tear leakes out of his eye and slowly rolls over his face until it finally falls into the pillow. And Jordan never felt so helpless before. 

~*~

Derek arrives the next day. He looks … weird, Chris thinks. Like something is missing. He nods at him and grumbles, “Took you long enough, sourwolf.”

At that, Derek flinches heavily, turning to him with a wide-eyed stare. “What did you just call me?” the younger werewolf asks, and Chris can only shrug. It is a nickname that seems fitting even though he can't remember having it heard before. When Derek turns back to the man on the bed, he gasps. “Oh God,” he murmurs, and slowly walks closer to him until he finally kneels on the floor. “I … I don't know where to touch him. He seems to hurt everywhere.”

“I know,” Chris answers quietly, “just … do what you can do. I think in his state every little bit counts.”

“How did you bring him here?” Derek asks while he takes off his jacket and throws it over a chair. 

“We rolled him onto a linnen, and then onto a stretcher. He screamed the entire time so we didn't dare to touch him any more than necessary.That is … until he passed out.”

Derek swallows and turns back to the … Peter, back to Peter. He examines the body carefully until he oh-so-gently rests his hands on Peter's right wrist and shoulder. The reaction is instantaneous. Peter groans and Derek gasps, dropping his head between his shoulders. He shivers and Chris is tempted to reach out to calm him down but then Derek takes a deep breath and looks at the man in wonder. “Peter,” he whispers and a tears start to fall. “Oh God, Peter, what have they done to you?”

Thick, black lines move under his skin and Chris can see first progresses. Black turns to dark grey, to dark blue, and when Peter takes a deep, shuddering breath, Chris can hear on the exhale, “Derek.”

The young werewolf's head shoots up and he smiles shakily at Peter. “Hey Uncle.” He hastily wipes the tears away. Peter raises a shaking hand, and stops short before touching Derek's cheek. Then he seems to gather all his strength and breathes, “Stiles.”

Derek frowns, and Chris feels irritated. “What is a Stiles?” he asks and the young man shakes his head. “I don't know.”

Peter growls. “Not … what,” he presses out, “who.” Then he closes his eyes again, and Chris isn't sure whether he fell back asleep or is unconscious again. 

Derek cocks his head. “What kind of name is Stiles?” he wonders aloud and turns to Chris. He shrugs, and turns to Jordan who has a strange expression on his face. “What is it?” 

~*~

“What is it?”

Jordan sits down. The last ten minutes have taken a toll on him. He feels drained, emotionally and physically. The moment Derek touched Peter, he seemed to know him again. So, what might happen when he touches him? Not like before with his thick police gloves as a barrier but with bare hands. 

“Parrish?” Derek's growling voice pulls Jordan out of his thoughts again, and he looks at him. “What?”

“You seemed to react when I said Stiles. Why?”

Jordan tries to remember what he thought about when he heard the name Stiles … and then it comes back to him again. “The Sheriff's last name is Stilinski. If he had a son, he might be nicknamed Stiles.”

Derek cocks his head, silently urging him to go on. “So, if you forgot all about your uncle because he was taken by those Ghostriders, maybe the Sheriff and his wife had a son and we all have forgotten about him. Like we did with him.” He points at Peter who looks a little better now. Derek looks at him for a long moment. 

“Makes sense,” he finally grumbles. 

Jordan is relieved when the yong man turns back to his uncle and takes the opportunity to move back a little until his back hits the wall and he slides down until his ass hits the floor. All those weird thoughts, all those strange emotions … he wants, no, *needs* to touch him. But at the same time he's afraid. Afraid of what he might learn. Afraid that he might be wrong and nothing of what he's feeling is real. He knows he has to wait. Has to make contact when they're alone. 

~*~

The pain is still extreme but he can breathe a little easier. When he opens his eyes, he can see that it's dark outside and that he's alone. His thoughts are sluggishly dripping around in his head, names tumbling over each other. Jordan, Stiles, Derek, Chris. Jordan. Parrish. 

Parrish. He remembers everything about his boy, their playdates, their nights spent together. And although he knows that it's not Jordan's fault that he forgot him, he has to admit that it hurts like hell. A strong wave of emotion crashes over him and he groans. Seconds later the door to his room opens, the light goes on and Jordan walks in. He looks like he has just fallen out of bed in nothing than a white shirt and some hideous boxers. Quickly, he makes his way over to the bed, reaches out and hesitates. Peter tries to speak and is glad that he can at least grunt a little. Apparently, his vocal chords are slowly recovering. He wants to put his hand in his boy's neck, wants to push him to his knees, see the look of pure love and adoration in those green-blue eyes. And he curses himself for not being able to. So he simply clenches his hands to fists, wishing his boy would touch him. 

~*~

Jordan looks down into the blue eyes that seem to be so familiar. He's still not sure how he can touch Derek's uncle without hurting him even more. Then he thinks back to how Derek did it. Just a touch of his fingertips. Slowly, carefully, he kneels down next to the bed, smiling at the man, trying to convey comfort. 

“What are you doing here?”

With a curse he moves his hand back, and in turning around falls on his ass next to the bed. He's not quite sure but he thinks the man on the bed might snicker. Then he's staring up at Chris Argent. 

“I...I...”, he stutters, then he scrambles to his feet, and wipes imaginary dust from his trousers. “I have the feeling that I need to touch him. I just don't know where or how without hurting him.”

Chris steps closer, and gazes down at Peter. “Derek touched him and suddenly he remembered him again. We wore gloves when we brought him home so I think that's why we didn't feel anything.”

Jordan turns to Peter again, examines him for a moment and suddenly, without any further ado, he reaches out and very tenderly touches his fingertip to Peters wrist. It's like a lightning going off in his head. Like a floodgate opened in his head, memories suddenly overwhelm him, pictures flood his brain, bring him down to his knees, and with a sound close to sobbing he presses out, “Master.”

~*~

The relief he feels is indescribable. Hearing his beloved boy say, “Master” is everything he dreamed of in those long months of isolation. He takes all his strenghts and mutters a barely audible, “Boy.” 

He can see Chris' widened eyes and seconds later, the hunter is touching him, too. He can see how his face contorts in something that looks like pain but is more likely recognition. Then he breaks down and gasps, “Peter, oh god.”

Peter smiles faintly. Seems as if Chris just remembered the little fling they had decades ago. But his whole concentration is still on his boy. His boy who is currently close to tears. He can see that Jordan's hands flutter over his body, his arms, his shoulders, his face. As if he desperately wants to touch but is still insecure as to where and how. He growls in frustration, knowing that it might take weeks for him to heal completely. Weeks in which Jordan can't (or won't dare) to touch him. But he's back. Back in Beacon Hills. Once he can talk again, he will tell them all about Stiles. Unnerving, know-it-all, loveable Stiles. The guy who owns his nephew's heart even though Derek can't remember him at the moment. The Sheriff's only son, the most important person in his life after the death of his wife. Ever since he found Jordan, he can suddenly understand John's devotion. He gazes at Jordan as long as he can until sleep finally drags him down again. 

~*~

He knows that it's not his fault that he forgot everything about Peter Hale. The man who owns his heart and body and soul so completely. Doesn't make him feel any better right now. He wants to touch but doesn't where or how. 

“We have to call the other werewolves,” Chris says behind him, “and have them come here. All of them. Peter needs all the healing power he can get.”

Jordan nods, then he gets up and walks over to a dresser and pulls the upper drawer open. He isn't exactly sure why he does it but he knows that it's important. That there is something he simply has to do. Inside the drawer is a dark wooden box which he could have sworn hadn't been there an hour ago. He opens it and sighs in relief. 

The black leather collar is soft and he can see that it has been worn often and extensively. *Knows* that it has been worn extensively. Without hesitation, he takes it out and groans when he feels the cool leather touch his skin. It'll warm up quickly, it always did. He fumbles a little with the clasp and when he has it finally closed, he walks back to the bed and kneels down next to it. Peter is still asleep, and Jordan simply rests his forehead against the soft linnen next to his master's hand. He can hear him breathing, can feel the warmth of his body and deep inside he knows that he will heal. He doesn't care how long it will take, doesn't care how long he will have to wait until they can go back to being what they've been before the Ghostriders took him. His Master is back and he feels whole again. The part of him that he hadn't known he had missed, is at last back where it belongs. 

The end

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the 80's song "Healing Touch" by Russ Taff. 
> 
> (...)  
> Your healing touch  
> To know Your love  
> Just to feel Your strength in me again  
> The rivers are deep where they’re flowing  
> They’re rolling through me  
> I want to be free
> 
> (...)
> 
> Bring me healing  
> I’ve got to know Your love again  
> I’ve grown weak  
> Let Your strength be mine again  
> The rivers are deep where they’re flowing  
> They’re rolling through me  
> You’re the only one who can save me from myself
> 
> (Healing)  
> If I can make it today  
> There’s hope for me tomorrow (Healing)  
> I can’t make it alone, Just not that strong


End file.
